


Call off the Dawn

by SummerFrost



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Found Family, Humor, Infidelity, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, Weddings, with my apologies to my fellow aquarians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 22:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: "Do you think this is happening because we're really terrible people?" Bitty asks. "Like, fundamentally?""Speak for yourself," says Kent. "I went to therapy for that shit."Or: Bitty and Kent accidentally ruin a wedding.





	Call off the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to shipped-goldstandard, blithelybonney and soundslikepenance, who all beta'd this self-indulgent little fic of mine. Oh, happy!bittyparse, how I've missed you <3
> 
> Title from It's Only Love by Rob Thomas, because if I have to be sad about Jack Zimmermann so do all of you.

Bitty stares at the wedding invitation blankly, running his thumb over the edge of the thick paper.

_ Jack Laurent Zimmermann and Samantha May Cooper request the pleasure of the company of Eric Bittle and his guest on the occasion of their marriage. _

There are two little hockey sticks instead of an “and” symbol. Bitty’s eye twitches.

“D’you think he remembers I’m your plus one?” Kent asks. He kisses the top of Bitty’s head as he hefts the last of their groceries onto the counter.

Bitty snorts. “Hun, half the country knows you’re my plus one.” 

“Damn right,” says Kent, gracefully accepting his new nameless status and also the fact that he’s going to be the only one putting the groceries away, because Bitty is busy having a Moment.

He tilts his head at the invitation. “It is kind of weird that they didn’t address it to you, though?”

Kent hums over the sound of the refrigerator opening. “Maybe it’s like, a recency effect? When two of your exes are boning, you send the invite to one you dumped last.”

Bitty laughs and teases, “Or maybe he just knows I’m the only one who reads the mail.”

Kent shuts the refrigerator. His voice has lost the playful edge. “Maybe he thinks I won’t wanna go.”

“Do you?” Bitty asks, tilting his head back to watch Kent’s face.

It’s neutral, but not the careful kind he hardly pulls on Bitty anymore. Just thoughtful, until he smirks and walks over so he can drape his arms around Bitty’s shoulders. 

“As Eric Bittle’s plus one?” he says, kissing Bitty’s cheek. “I’d go anywhere.”

Bitty nuzzles their noses together and then looks back at the invitation. He sighs and gripes, “See,  _ this  _ is an argument for why we should’ve gotten married first. Now we have to invite him to ours, don’t we?”

“Hey, there’s still time,” Kent points out. “You know I’ve got the ring in the sock—”

_ “La la la la la!  _ I can’t hear you!” Bitty covers Kent’s mouth like a child. “Do we have a sock drawer? We don’t even own socks, I think, I mean—”

Kent puts his hands up in defeat. “I know, I know—I’m just saying.”

Bitty drops the invitation onto the table and takes Kent’s hands in his. “Sweetie, you know I will marry the hell outta you one day. It’s just—the bakery’s comin’ up on three years, and it’s finally got its own identity again. I don’t want it to go back to bein’ ‘that place Kent Parson’s husband owns.’”

“Babe, it’s okay.” Kent laughs softly, nudging Bitty with an elbow. “But can you blame me for trying?”

“I kind of love that you do,” Bitty admits with a wry smile.

“Mm.” Kent hums, leaning in for a kiss, which Bitty happily obliges. He points out, “The guys still have a betting pool, you know. Over-or-under’s retirement.”

“I’m gonna outlast that knee of yours,” Bitty threatens mildly. He picks up the invitation again, feeling vaguely like one of those zoo animals pacing their enclosure.

Kent says, “I fuckin’ hope so,” and resumes putting away the groceries.

Bitty tugs the RSVP card out of the envelope. There’s a blank line for him to write his and Kent’s names, and then options of  _ happily accepts  _ and  _ regretfully declines. _ It suddenly occurs to him, listening to the clink of beer bottles being rearranged in their fridge, that Jack would have had to ask someone for their new address.

Kent opens the freezer and asks, “So, are we going?”

Bitty reaches for a pen. “Do you want chicken or fish?”

 

~*~

 

The Zimmermann-Cooper union is a destination wedding in Hawaii, of all places, which is convenient insofar as that Kent has at least stranded them somewhere with nice weather.

_ "Temporarily  _ stranded!" Kent emphasizes. Bitty drops his sunglasses over his eyes, unimpressed. "How was I supposed to know check-in isn't until noon?"

Bitty sighs dramatically as he kicks off his flip-flops and leads their march into the sand. "I don't know, sweetheart, by  _ asking  _ when you make the reservation, maybe?"

"Okay, duly noted and all," Kent says, "but you can't tell me this wouldn't have been our first stop anyway."

Bitty pauses to take in the the beautiful, remote stretch of ocean in front of them. Kent may have made them an accidental three hours early to the hotel, but he  _ did  _ also convince the bell boy to take their luggage early and got them permission to go back to the private beach.

Chirping him is still fun, though.

Bitty sighs again and takes Kent's face firmly in his hands, looking up at him sternly from under his sunglasses. "What have we learned from this experience?"

"To ask what time check-in is on the phone," Kent repeats dutifully. He smirks and tugs Bitty in by the waist. "And that you're still really fucking hot when you're pissed at me."

"Stop that," Bitty scolds. He bites down on Kent's lip to really, absolutely emphasize how serious he is.

"Yeah, like that," Kent murmurs, laughing into Bitty's mouth. He slips a hand down to grope Bitty's ass through his shorts and uses the leverage to rock their bodies together.

And, God, Bitty still catches himself thinking, sometimes, about how nice it is to be able to do this in public.

Well,  _ this- _ this. Not the part that's clearly about to happen, if the way Kent's dick is rubbing against Bitty's hip is any indication, as much as Bitty enjoys indulging in a little exhibition.

Kent scrapes his teeth along Bitty's neck and suggests, "Think I know how we can kill time."

Bitty raises an eyebrow. "And where do you propose we do that, exactly? Without getting arrested, I mean."

"One, you're no fun," Kent says, holding up a finger. But he tilts his head towards a little building back towards the hotel and holds up another finger. "Two, outdoor showers."

Bitty squints at the building. The showers  _ are  _ private stalls, even though the doors are made of slatted wood and don't go all the way to the ground—there's a good six inches of visible space.

"I can't believe I fell in love with you," he complains, and starts dragging Kent over by the wrist.

Kent, who apparently has other plans, shouts, "Winner gets first blowjob!" and takes off running.

Bitty scrambles to grab his shoes off the ground and sprints after him, laughing exasperatedly as he kicks up hot sand under his bare feet. 

He's nearly caught up with Kent when they both careen into one of the showers, Kent slamming the door shut behind them and Bitty reaching back to slide the lock into place, giddy with adrenaline and the feeling of Kent's hands sliding up his sides.

Then Bitty tilts his head back against the door to catch his breath and locks eyes with a mortified looking woman, who is topless and has another man's hand on her breast.

Bitty has the strange, slightly hysterical thought that she actually looks shockingly like Kent—wavy blonde hair and a pretty upturned nose covered in freckles—before he has the sense to stammer out an apology.

"Oh my  _ God,"  _ he manages in a rush, putting a hand on Kent's chest to still him. "We are  _ so sorry." _

"What—" Kent starts, before turns to follow Bitty's gaze and catches sight of the other couple. "Oh, shit."

The man seems to collect himself first, grabbing his shirt off the ground and handing it to the woman so she can cover herself, but neither of them speak.

Bitty laughs nervously and starts to fumble blindly for the lock to escape this absolute  _ hell,  _ but his fingers keep slipping over the metal latch and Kent keeps getting in the way by trying to help him, and this is going to be how Bitty dies.

"Looks like we both had the same idea!" he says inanely. Kent knees him in the thigh. "We'll just be goin' now, so—lovely? To meet you? Please enjoy your day!"

They finally get the door open and stumble back out onto the beach, and someone from inside the shower slams the door shut behind them. 

Kent locks eyes with Bitty for one entire second before they both burst out laughing.

"Holy fuck," Kent wheezes. "Jesus."

Bitty plops down on the ground, laughing too hard to keep himself up and on the verge of tears. Kent follows him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, then buries his face in Bitty's neck until they compose themselves.

"Okay, okay," says Kent. He's still fighting back giggles, rendering him half-incomprehensible except for how well Bitty knows him. "You're the—the etiquette—expert. If we try the—the fucking—stall next door?"

Bitty tilts Kent's chin up and kisses him, soft and slow to ease him through the fading fit of laughter. Kent sighs into it, his free hand creeping up Bitty's thigh, and Bitty whispers, "I think it's every other stall—like a urinal?"

Kent chokes on his own spit.

 

~*~

 

They manage to occupy themselves until their room is ready, and then take a well-earned nap in the hotel before it's time to get ready for the ceremony, which will be at sunset on the beach. 

Bitty is fussing over Kent's hair, deep in a familiar battle with the cowlick up front, when the phone alarm goes off telling them they need to head downstairs.

"Ugh, fine," Bitty complains. He narrows his eyes at his reflection, straightening his bowtie, and grabs his phone off the bathroom sink.

"Babe," Kent assures him, steering him out the door with a hand on his lower back, "we look hella good, you know this."

Bitty shoots him a grateful look, then loops their arms together resolutely.

Despite Bitty's dedication to scheduling, most of the seats near the front are full by the time they get there. He waves at the old Samwell crew, who are clustered on the far end in the middle, before hurrying back to sit next to Kent.

Music from a live orchestra starts up and the wedding party makes its way down the aisle. Bitty doesn't recognize any of the bridesmaids, but Tater is a groomsman and Shitty is Jack's best man, which brings an honest tear to his eye.

The last time they were all together like this was for Shitty and Lardo's wedding, three years ago. Bitty can't wait to see them all at the reception.

To his mild dismay, the final groomsman is the man from the showers this morning, in decidedly more clothes. Bitty resolutely does not make eye contact.

Jack takes his place last, fidgeting with a cufflink as he walks down the aisle. He's as handsome as ever with a bit of early gray at his temples, those sweet, anxious eyes darting around until they land on Shitty at the front and settle.

"Fuck," murmurs Kent.

Bitty takes in a soft breath and squeezes Kent's hand.  _ Yeah. _

Everything hangs suspended, for a moment, until the officiant gestures for the audience to stand. The wedding march begins to play and the bride comes into view, wearing a knee-length dress and holding a stunning bouquet of lillies.

She's barefoot, which Bitty is privately reflecting on as an excellent idea for a beach wedding, when she gets close enough to him that he can see her face under the veil—and, horrifyingly, recognizes her.

"Oh my  _ God,"  _ Bitty hisses. He smacks Kent on the stomach in a panic. "Look!"

"Ow!" Kent grabs Bitty by the wrist. "I am lo— _holy_ shit."

Bitty says, "This is the worst day of my life."

"Maybe it's her sister?" Kent suggests.

Bitty gestures at the maid of honor.  _ "That's  _ her sister."

"Fuck," Kent whispers.  _ "Fuck  _ that's her."

Someone from the row behind them goes,  _ "Shh!" _

Bitty whips his head around and snaps,  _ "You  _ shush!"

"Babe." Kent shakes Bitty's hand insistently, as if Bitty wasn't already paying attention. "Babe, what do we do?"

"What if we left?" Bitty suggests. "We should leave. I think I'm gonna throw up."

Kent ignores him. "We've gotta tell him, right? We can't just let this happen."

The officiant gestures for everyone to sit. 

Bitty sits. He digs his nails into Kent's thigh and says, "Kent Parson, we cannot stop this wedding like we are in a Taylor Swift song."

"But what if we  _ did." _

Bitty closes his eyes, trying to drown out the sound of the officiant giving the speech, the steady background noise of the ocean. 

"Think about Jack," he tells Kent in a low voice. "Can you imagine anything more mortifying for him than having his wedding interrupted like that?"

"Fuck," Kent mutters. He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. "You're right. Fuck."

Bitty nods shakily, fixing his eyes back on Jack and the bride. He massages Kent's thigh soothingly, sliding a hand down to his knee and back up.

Kent reasons quietly, "I mean, we don't even really know what we saw, right? They could be, like, fucking polyamorous or something and it's totally fine."

"Yeah, totally fine," Bitty agrees. He thinks about the look on the bride's face when she saw him and his stomach turns again. "...But on the  _ wedding _ day?"

Kent slouches down in his chair.

The officiant gets to the part in the speech where he tells everyone to speak now or forever hold their peace.

"Last chance," Kent murmurs.

"Do you think this is happening because we're really terrible people?" Bitty asks. "Like, fundamentally?"

"Speak for yourself," says Kent. "I went to therapy for that shit."

The ceremony continues.

And the thing is that—Bitty actually, genuinely enjoys weddings. He  _ loves  _ weddings with Kent, especially. Getting all teary-eyed about love and commitment, looking at flower arrangements and scenery, like a mental Pinterest board.

But this isn't exactly the venue for that, at least anymore.

_ The colors were perfect for a summer wedding and the sunset was lovely, but also sand got everywhere and the bride might be a Panic! at the Disco lyric. _

Bitty forces himself to clap when Jack and the bride kiss. This is absolutely  _ not  _ the particular way he assumed today would be unpleasant.

 

~*~

 

There's a cocktail hour before the formal dinner, giving the wedding party time to take photos and Bitty and Kent time to get plastered.

Kent sidles up next to Bitty at the little table he's claimed on the patio that connects the indoor dining room to the beach. It's a lovely view, with little fairy lights lining the path out towards a set of speakers playing the same music as inside; the wedding party is visible in the distance, posing for the photographer.

"It's an open bar," Kent tells him, sliding Bitty's drink into his hand.

"Thank God," Bitty answers. "I'm not doing this sober."

He chugs the whole glass and then pushes away from the table, patting Kent on the arm as he heads off to get their second round.

 

~*~

 

Three drinks and an unspecified amount of what Bitty supposes counts as reconnaissance later, they reconvene at the same table.

"Okay, firstly," Kent is saying, gesturing at the chalkboard menu propped up on the bar. "The bride's signature drink is a tequila sunrise, which is abso-fucking-lutely thot territory."

Bitty squints at the menu. "What's Jack's?"

"An old fashioned."

"That's...kind of sad?" Bitty quirks his lips fondly. "But also fitting?"

Kent says, "I know, right?"

Bitty shakes his head to refocus. "But, right— _ you  _ love tequila sunrises."

"Yeah, but, babe, as you know and  _ love  _ me for," Kent argues, slurping his drink through a ridiculous curly straw as if to emphasize the point, "I'm kind of a giant fucking slut."

"But you're  _ my  _ giant slut," Bitty counters, wagging a finger. "And you wouldn't fuck a groomsman on our wedding day unless I got to join."

Kent looks worryingly thoughtful. "Hm, that actually gives me a great—"

"Okay, but, seriously," Bitty interrupts. "Much as I appreciate our joint commitment to using humor to cope with this  _ absolute nightmare,  _ we need actual evidence before we talk to Jack, hun."

"Right, yeah, I agree," Kent says. He shoots a pair of finger guns at Bitty. "Which is why I talked to one of the bridesmaids and found out Samantha's an Aquarius, which TBH puts me way more firmly in Camp Infidelity."

Bitty rubs at his temple. "I need you to never say like half of those words again."

Kent shrugs noncommittally.

"Also, I don't think that's how the zodiac works," Bitty points out.

Kent says, "Spoken like a true Taurus, babe."

Bitty hides his face in his arms on the table. "'M gonna have to talk to Shitty, aren't I?"

"Mhm," Kent agrees. "You want an assist or is this a solo mission?"

Bitty pushes his empty glass away from himself and grabs Kent by the wrist. "If I have to live in this hell then so do you."

"Aww, babe!" Kent puts his free hand to his chest as Bitty drags him along. "It's like we're already married!"

 

~*~

 

Bitty manages to get Shitty's attention while the photographer is doing photos of just the bride's half of the wedding party. He waves as Shitty stumbles through the sand and shouts, "Bits, my man, long time no see!"

"Shitty," Bitty wheezes, crushed in Shitty's sudden hug. "We really need to talk to you."

Shitty lets Bitty go and hauls Kent into the same bone-crushing greeting. "Bruh, I know! How long's it been, since like last fall?"

"No, Shitty, it's—this is  _ really  _ important," Bitty emphasizes. He grabs Kent's hand for stability.

Jack calls, "Shits, we need—oh, hey Bittle, Parse—Shits, we need you."

"Duty calls, my bros!" Shitty says. "Let's catch up la—"

Bitty insists, "Shitty, it's  _ urgent," _ but Shitty is already walking backwards towards the group.

"Find me after the speeches, Bits, we'll catch up!" He turns around and takes a running leap into Jack's arms, delighting the photographer. "Jackabelle, my love, I'm here!"

Bitty scrubs a hand over his face.  _ "Shit." _

"C'mon, babe," Kent says, wrapping an arm around Bitty's shoulders and trying to lead him away. He's staring at Samantha, who appears to be watching them with what Bitty tries to convince himself isn't a menacing glare. "What're we gonna do, ruin the wedding pics?"

Bitty lets Kent steer him back towards the bar and mutters, "I guess not."

 

~*~

 

They have to suffer through the wedding speeches next. Bitty would find them touching, if he wasn't busy trying to push past the vague churning in his stomach to enjoy dinner.

At least they're at the Samwell alumni table, with Ransom, Holster, Lardo, and the frogs. Shitty is at the head table with the rest of the wedding party, which leaves Bitty and Kent struggling to mine for information and also enjoy a pleasant evening with old friends.

**_Kenny <3 (8:45 PM): _ ** _ I feel like I'm in a bad spy movie _

**_Bitty (8:46 PM):_ ** _ Don't text at the table it's rude!! _

"Wait," Bitty asks, deftly grabbing Kent's phone from him and stashing it in his own pocket,  _ "none  _ of y'all have met Samantha?"

Kent leans over and murmurs, "Joke's on you—now I get to touch your butt."

"IDK what to tell you, bro," Ransom answers as Bitty smacks Kent's hand away. "Like, none of us have seen Jack in a few years?"

Lardo gestures with her glass of wine. "'Cept me. I've met her."

"What's she like?" Bitty asks. He whacks Kent on the knee for good measure.

Lardo just shrugs. "Fine, I guess? I mean, obligatory 'she's not as chill as you, Bits,' but, uh—you two seem mad happy, so congrats?"

Bitty says, "We are," at the same time Kent tells her, "He's pretty much the best fuckin' thing that's ever happened to me."

"Aww!" Bitty turns and beams at him, caught off guard by the tears springing into his eyes. He fusses with Kent's hair to have something to do with his hands, trying to tuck a stray lock back into place.  _ "Sweetheart." _

Kent hums happily, leaning in for a kiss that Bitty gladly obliges him. It turns a little heated without Bitty really meaning it to, his thumb caressing Kent's cheek and Kent sliding a hand into his hair while he sucks Bitty's bottom lip into his mouth.

Someone wolf whistles and Holster chirps, "Jeez, you two, get a room!"

Bitty pulls away reluctantly, pink-cheeked, but he slides his hand down to rest an arm across the back of Kent's chair. 

"Seriously, though," Lardo continues, "how long have you two been together again? Everytime I see you it's like you're still in the honeymoon phase."

Bitty squints at Kent's face while he does the math. "Six? Six years?"

"Gonna be seven in September," Kent confirms. He smacks a hand on the table. "New band name! Gimme my phone, I've gotta text Jeff."

Bitty rolls his eyes and hands the phone over, then turns back to his friends. "How long did y'all say Jack and Samantha have been together?"

"Uh, we didn't," says Lardo. She raises an eyebrow at him. "But I think it's close to two."

"Gotcha, and they—"

Holster interrupts, "Yo, Bits, not to be That Guy, but you're getting a little weird with all the questions. Is everything okay?"

Nursey, who had previously been occupied with a side conversation with Dex, adds, "'Cause like Lards said, man, it's not, like, a competition."

"Oh my God," Bitty says. He looks around the table; most of his friends are staring at him. "That's so entirely not what this is."

Kent nudges Bitty with an elbow. "You've gotta admit, though, pretty in-character."

Bitty whacks him lightly on the arm. "I'm just! Worried about him? Or, maybe not  _ worried,  _ but—y'all, I know we haven't talked in a few years, but Jack is still our  _ friend,  _ and I think we should know a little more about his wife, is all."

"Great save," Kent chirps under his breath. "Now no one thinks we're weird."

Everyone shares some kind of group look, and surprisingly Chowder is the one who speaks up. "We just can't really help you? I don't think any of us really know—"

"And now, it's time for the bride and groom's first dance!" the DJ announces.

Bitty sighs. Clearly this isn't getting them anywhere, and the last thing he wants is to alienate their friends. 

"Well, enough of all that!" he says, turning away from the dancefloor to face the rest of the table. "Rans, Holster—how was Niagara Falls this year?"

They spend a few minutes catching up, and then the DJ announces the father-daughter and mother-son dance. Alicia catches Bitty's eye as she glides over to the dance floor, quirking her lips at him and then turning her head again.

She says something to Jack that Bitty is too far away to catch, but Jack laughs and ducks his head as he rests his hand on her waist. 

Bitty scoots his chair over so he can rest his head on Kent's shoulder, and Kent covers Bitty's hand on his thigh with his own. Jack's eyes are bright as he talks quietly with his mother, even though his feet still stumble through the steps.

"Oh," Bitty says softly, biting his lip around a bittersweet smile. He nuzzles Kent's neck as Jack rests his cheek against Alicia's temple. "Look at them."

Lardo clears her throat and gives Bitty a double eyebrow raise when he looks over at her, clearly questioning something on his face.

But it doesn't matter, because Kent's thumb is stroking Bitty's knuckles, and he's the only person in the world who could name the aching feeling in Bitty's heart, who could understand the way Bitty still wants to kiss the worried wrinkles off of Jack's forehead, and know that there's nothing about it that needs to change.

They'll always share the same first love, and there's no one in the world Bitty would rather be living the  _ after  _ with.

Not any of it.

He pushes up in his seat to kiss the shell of Kent's ear, whisper, "I love you, baby—so much," and feel the answer in the squeeze of Kenny's hand before he ever says it.

 

~*~

 

When that dance ends, they're free to corner Shitty on the dancefloor and harass him about Jack's personal life.

"Hey!" Shitty says, slinging an arm around each of them. "If it isn't my second favorite couple! How fucking goes it, my dudes?"

Bitty tries to escape Shitty's hold before he can give him a noogie and ruin his hair. "Shitty, can we talk in the hallway?"

"I was gonna go catch up with the squad, bro, come with me!" Shitty says, apparently ignoring him.

"It's private," Kent tells him, planting a hand on his shoulder. "And kinda fucking an emergency, bro."

Shitty suddenly stops smiling. He looks between them warily. "Did you two kill someone? Is there a body in a hotel room?"

"Not yet," Bitty mutters. Louder, he begs, "Just trust us, please?"

Shitty sighs, but he heads for the doors that lead from the ballroom into the rest of the hotel. Bitty and Kent follow, carefully shutting the doors behind themselves.

"Okay, what's up?" Shitty asks. He slicks his hair back from his face with one hand.

Bitty looks at Kent, who nods, and asks, "Um, are Jack and Samantha—well, do you know if they're...polyamorous or anything?"

Shitty laughs. "That's the emergency? Bro, if you're looking for a threesome—"

"We're not!" Bitty insists. He shoots Kent an exasperated look. "Why does everyone assume we're being  _ weird  _ about this?"

Kent pats Bitty on the shoulder, squeezing gently. "Okay, look, Shitty—you've gotta swear to secrecy on this, okay?"

Shitty raises his eyebrows. "Uh, okay?"

Kent takes a deep breath, then tells him, "We walked in on Samantha with some other guy this morning—that groomsman, not Tater?"

"Holy fuckballs—Nick?" Shitty glances over at the double doors, like someone's about to throw them open, then lowers his voice. "Like, sexually?"

Kent tilts his face up to the ceiling. "I mean, I know what her tits look like now, so yeah, I'd say  _ sexually." _

"Honey," Bitty scolds in a whisper.

"Shit," says Shitty. "So you're—"

"Tryin' to figure out what's going on," Bitty explains. He bites his lip. "We didn't wanna assume that she's—well, there could be more than one explanation, and we don't want to put Jack in an awkward position unnecessarily, especially tonight."

Kent continues, "And we figured, man, if anyone knows if there's a chance this  _ isn't  _ a crazy fucking horrible cheating situation, it's you."

Shitty runs both hands through his hair and then loosens his tie, tugging the knot roughly down his neck. "Fuck, man, I dunno. If they're non-monogamous Jack never told me."

"Ugh," says Bitty.

"But then again, I didn't even know he was bi until, well, you know." He flourishes a hand at Bitty. "So maybe he wouldn't have? The fucker's notoriously private, you know."

Kent says, "We're so fucked."

Bitty closes his eyes. "We're gonna have to tell him, aren't we?"

Shitty says, "Yeahhh, so maybe this is a good time to mention that I ate, like,  _ so many _ fucking pot brownies with Lards right before dinner?"

"Oh my God," says Bitty. 

"So I, uh, may not be in the state of mind, to, you know, handle this whole deal with the delicacy it deserves." Shitty mimics an explosion with his hands, noises and all.

"So we're on our own," Bitty asks flatly.

Shitty nods solemnly and flees back into the ballroom, apparently to avoid being roped into any further plots.

Bitty looks at Kent with resignation. "So, what now?"

Kent groans as he shoves the doors open and Bitty follows him through. "We tell Jack."

 

~*~

 

"But think about this excellent idea I just had," Bitty says. He scrapes all the icing off the top of his cake and dollops it onto Kent's plate. "We _don't_ tell Jack."

Kent scoops up half the icing onto his fork and sucks on it like a lollipop. They're tucked into a corner of the patio, hiding from their friends.

"Babe," he argues reluctantly, "you know we've gotta."

Bitty licks his thumb and wipes a glob of icing away from the corner of Kent's mouth. "But maybe it's nothing and we ruin his wedding for no reason! And besides, should his two ex-lovers  _ really  _ be the way he finds out?"

"I mean, no? But we're what he's got," Kent says. 

Bitty slumps down in his chair and tries, "What if we sent an anonymous letter when we get back to New York?"

"Eric," says Kent.

Fuck. He's really serious, then.

Bitty looks at him dolefully.

"I know this is literally your conflict-avoidant ass's worst nightmare," Kent tells him, taking his hands. "And I'm sorry—but we've gotta do this. The longer we wait, the worse it is on Jack."

Bitty looks down at their joined hands, the little scars on Kent's knuckles and the thick, shiny one from a burn on the side of Bitty's palm. He tries to imagine losing this—finds it unfathomable.

"He just married her," Bitty whispers.

"Exactly." Kent traces the burn mark, his callouses feeling shivery and strange against Bitty's smooth skin. "But if we tell him tonight—I dunno, maybe he can call it off, or at least get it annulled? Like, does he have a prenup? There's more than his feelings at stake here."

Bitty nods, re-determined. He forces his tone to go more lighthearted and half-jokes, "Speaking of which, should we look into one of those?"

"Dunno." Kent hums, shooting Bitty a smirk. "Are you cheating on me?"

Bitty pretends to think about it. "Not that I'm aware of."

Kent lets go of one of Bitty's hands to shove a bite of cake into his mouth, but he hooks his ankle around Bitty's calf under the table. "Then let's call that a soft maybe, and circle back if you ever get around to letting me propose."

"Fair enough." Bitty smiles fondly at him, then takes a deep breath. "Let's go ruin a wedding, I guess."

 

~*~

 

Jack is on the dance floor with Tater and one of the younger Falconers—someone who was drafted a few years before Jack retired—who Bitty never met personally, and is apparently trying to teach Jack and Tater some kind of dance involving a suspicious amount of hip thrusting.

"Yo, all the rookies are obsessed with that shit," Kent says, elbowing Bitty conspiratorially as they walk over. "If I learned it I could embarrass the hell out of them at the barbecue."

Bitty pats him on the bicep. "Baby, focus."

"Right, right—Zimms, hey!"

Jack turns at the sound of Kent's voice and breaks into a grin. "Kenny! Bits!"

He pulls Kent into a hug first, and Bitty watches how Kent's spine locks up for a split second before he relaxes into it. Then Kent is leaning away and brushing his fingers against Bitty's elbow, and Bitty is tucking himself against Jack's chest.

Jack still smells like the same cologne. He holds Bitty just as tightly.

_ I spent so many years wanting to hurt you,  _ Bitty thinks. He clings a little harder before he has to let go.  _ I'm sorry. _

"It's really good to see you," Jack says. He's abandoned his jacket at some point and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, but he goes to fiddle with where a cufflink would be at his wrist. "I'm glad you came."

Bitty wishes he could say the same. He smiles and says, "Oh, goodness—of course! We couldn't have missed it, sweetpea."

Kent claps Jack on the shoulder. "Yeah, it's been too long, man."

"Haha, yeah." Jack rubs the back of his neck. "I, uh. Keep meaning to come to a game, when you're in town. But, uh…"

"It's weird, right?" Kent agrees. He glances at Tater, who retired a few years before Jack. "Jeff hasn't been back at the arena since his last game, either."

Bitty gripes, "Oh, Lord, y'all are makin' me feel old."

Kent ruffles his hair wryly.

"But, um! We should catch up!" Bitty says, forcing cheer into his voice. "Maybe, um, somewhere quieter?"

Jack nods. "Uh, yeah. Want to go outside?"

Bitty would very much like to not go anywhere, but they've already committed to doing this now, so he loops his arm through Jack's playfully and says, "Lead the way, Mr. Zimmermann."

Jack looks down at him with surprise, but smiles shyly when Kent falls into step with them on Bitty's other side, affectionately knocking shoulders with him.

They wander out onto the beach, far enough away from the speakers that the music is faint background noise. Jack looks different in the fading light—softer, a little older, like Bitty pictured him when he used to dream about the life stretched ahead of them.

He reaches for Kent's hand on instinct, squeezing it too tightly.  _ I can't do this. _

"It's okay," Kent whispers, kissing his temple.

Jack's hands are in his pockets, and he's watching the two of them with a warm expression, maybe something wistful around the wrinkles near his eyes.

He's never been one to break a silence. That was always Bitty's job.

"So, um! The wedding was absolutely  _ beautiful,  _ Jack, and it's just so sweet that Shitty is your best man!" Bitty rambles, still white-knuckling Kent's hand. "I mean, gosh, to think about how we all met back at Samwell, and now he's got  _ kids!  _ And here you are, gettin'—getting married."

"Haha, yeah." Jack glances back at the hotel, where a cluster of guests are gathered on the patio. "Doesn't seem real, eh?"

Kent clears his throat. "So, uh—your second groomsman?"

"Oh, that's Nick," says Jack. "He's a cool guy—he and Sam have been best friends for years."

_ God.  _ Bitty locks eyes with Kent, who clenches his jaw before saying, "So, uh. About that…"

Jack furrows his eyebrows. "What is it?"

"Um." Bitty bites his lip. "We...have something to ask you? That might be kind of difficult to hear, but I hope you know we wouldn't ask something so personal without a good reason and please just trust us, sweetpea—"

"Bittle, you keep calling me that." Jack looks between the two of them. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

Bitty closes his eyes. "Do you and Samantha, um—do you have, um, an open relationship or anything?"

Jack's voice is careful as he scrutinizes their faces. "We're monogamous. Why?"

Bitty's heart sinks. He can't make his throat work and his hand is shaking in Kent's grip.

"Parse?" Jack tries, more insistently.

Kent sucks in a deep breath, his entire body going rigid and his voice going flat, and says, "We caught Samantha and Nick fucking this morning. In the showers, on the beach. Fuck, that's not relevant—I just—"

Jack asks, "Are you sure?"

"Um." Bitty swallows thickly. "Yeah. Yeah, we are, hun."

Jack is watching the crowd. His face is blank when he says, "Okay."

Bitty looks up at Kent, whose jaw is still clenched so tightly he can see the muscle trembling.

"You...believe us?" Bitty asks tentatively.

Jack turns to them, eyes earnest and nearly translucent in the light reflecting off the ocean, and asks, "Why wouldn't I?"

Bitty, somehow, inexplicably, thinks of the first time Kent slid his hands under Bitty's shirt, the way he licked into Bitty's mouth and left the taste of tequila, the quiet, wonderous voice in Bitty's head that thought,  _ Oh. I could fall in love with you. _

Thinks about how he would dig and dig until he had bleeding blisters on his hands to bury anything that threatened that feeling, even if the thing were true.

"I don't know," he says, instead of any of that, and Jack turns away again.

"Okay," he repeats. "Thank you for telling me. I'm going to go."

"What?" Bitty asks, trying to hide the flare of panic. "Sweetheart, go where?"

Jack is walking towards the hotel. He doesn't answer.

Kent blocks Jack's path before Bitty can even make his feet move. He grabs Jack's arm, forcing Jack to meet his eyes. "Zimms?"

Jack blinks at him and says, "I just want to know why."

Kent turns to look at the hotel again, and Bitty follows his gaze—Samantha is out on the patio now, holding a glass of champagne and laughing with her bridesmaids.

"Okay," Kent tells him, and gets out of the way.

They watch Jack walk up to her and touch Samantha's shoulder, tilting his head towards the beach. She shakes her head, but moves away from the group to talk to him.

"Should we get closer?" Kent asks. He tugs Bitty against his chest, arms warm and snug around his middle.

Bitty tilts his head back, brushing his nose against Kent's jaw. "I don't think I wanna hear."

Kent kisses the tip of his nose and snuggles him closer.

It's obvious that the conversation isn't going well, anyway. Bitty can see it in the line of tension in Jack's shoulders, and the broad gestures Samantha makes with her hands. He can't make out their expressions, but their voices are getting progressively louder—Bitty still can't tell what they're saying, but it's a wonder he can hear them at all from this distance—and people are staring. 

Some of the guests on the beach start creeping closer, clearly not taking Bitty's moral high ground against eavesdropping.

Suddenly, Samantha shoves the champagne glass she was holding into Jack's hands and rushes away—she grabs one of the bridesmaids by the wrist and drags her along; the rest of them follow.

Jack tries to follow her, too, but he's stopped by Tater, who shakes his head as he pulls Jack into an embrace.

"Fuck," says Kent.

"Okay." Bitty sighs, worrying at his bottom lip. "Now we should go in."

The rest of the guests on the beach seem to have the same idea, maybe because they need to figure out if they're still at a wedding. Bitty leans into Kent's side as they pick their way through the sand, arms around each other's waists.

Dex, Chowder, Lardo, and Nursey stop them on the patio as people flow inside.

"Bitty!" Chowder says worriedly. "Samantha is just...gone. Is this why you were acting so weird before?"

Lardo adds, "Yeah, did you know something?"

Bitty looks to Kent for confirmation before he hedges, "Um, I'm not sure if Jack would want us to—"

Dex cuts in, "Derek and I heard everything they said. We know she cheated on him."

Bitty winces. Kent squeezes his hip soothingly, fingers splayed out wide.

"We knew," Bitty admits softly. "Or, we had—well, we  _ saw  _ something—so we, um, ended up telling Jack, and…"

Nursey whistles dramatically. The group shares pitying, distressed looks while the ballroom empties behind them. It's possible someone's made some sort of announcement—like people were asked to leave—because Bitty expects there would be much more milling about and gossip-mongering otherwise.

Probably it's just happening at the hotel's main bar instead.

Bitty slips past his friends, leading Kent with him, and tries to catch sight of Jack.

It's not easy to find him in the half-empty space, talking to the DJ. Bob comes up next to him, a hand coming to rest on Jack's back before he gently takes his place and sends Jack away.

He's then waylaid by Alicia, who wraps her arms around him. He tucks his head under his chin, entire body scrunching to do it, like he wants to shrink away into nothing.

Bitty used to hold him like that, on the really bad days. He used to trace a finger down the taut lines of trembling muscle, and talk about endless nothing until Jack could unfold with creaking joints.

They're close enough that Bitty can tell it's him Alicia is looking at, when she tilts her chin in a silent, jerking motion. Not really a plea, because she doesn't beg and she knows Bitty better than that, besides.

Predictably, he nods back.  _ We'll take care of him. _

She kisses the top of Jack's head and strides away to funnel her righteous indignation into organizing the wait staff, who are milling about nervously near one of the entrances.

Jack, unmoored, brushes past Bitty, Kent, and the others to get to the outdoor bar, ignoring the placating way several of them call his name. He has a brief, somewhat tense conversation with the bartender and comes away with a bottle of wine.

It's painfully obvious that no one knows what to do.

"So, this sucks," Lardo points out.

Bitty is watching Jack wander back out to the beach, his face tilted down at his feet as he kicks them through the sand, his free hand shoved in his pocket.

Kent nuzzles his nose against Bitty's temple and murmurs, "You wanna go, don't you?"

Jack sits down in the sand and tilts his face up to the sky.

"Yeah," Bitty answers, but Kent is already kicking off his shoes.

He says, "Might as well," when Bitty raises an eyebrow at him, and hides them under a chair. 

Bitty does the same and rolls his pants legs up for good measure. They retrace their steps through the sand, leaving their friends to their own devices by the hotel.

"What're we gonna do?" Bitty whispers. The sand is rough and vaguely warm against his feet, and he slows his pace to feel the way Kent automatically matches him.

"Dunno," Kent answers, brushing his hand across the small of Bitty's back. "But be honest—moonlit ocean, heartbroken Jack, a bottle of wine—you've definitely had this fantasy at least once."

"Well, yeah," Bitty says, "when I was like twenty-five and you hadn't fucked all the spite out of me yet. Now it’s just sad."

Kent nips Bitty's ear playfully. "Aww, baby, I love how you talk about our love."

Bitty smiles weakly, but he stops walking entirely, before Jack is within earshot.

"Is this all our fault?" he asks suddenly. He turns to look at Kent with earnest, wet eyes. "Do you think he hates us?"

"Nah," says Kent. "I don't."

Bitty's voice cracks as he admits, "I think I would hate us."

Kent just kisses his temple, his lips chapped from being in the salt air all day and his arms automatically wrapping around Bitty when he falls into his chest—and nothing will ever hurt more than the way Kent looks at Bitty's ugliest parts and touches them with reverence.

Jack looks up as the two of them sit down, one on either side of him, and gestures with the wine bottle.

"I probably shouldn't have this," he says. "I don't know why I got it."

Kent tells him, "Say no more," and plucks the bottle from his hands. Apparently his solution is to chug the bottle himself so that Jack can't have any, which is probably technically an improvement over what they would have done at sixteen.

"Honey," Bitty warns, and Kent rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He holds the bottle out for Bitty to take.

Bitty takes a drink on principle, wincing—ugh, he hates Cabernet—and stashes the bottle in the sand behind them.

Jack scoops up a handful of sand and watches it sift through his fingers. "It was happening the whole time, on and off. Since before she met me."

"Jesus," says Kent, maybe involuntarily.

"I wouldn't have cared, if she'd told me." Jack looks at Bitty, a familiar furrow between his eyebrows. It's not Bitty's place, to smooth it away. "I don't know why she didn't…"

He trails off, drawing his knees up and digging his heels into the sand. He rests his forearms on his knees, looking strangely like he should be holding a cigarette, though Bitty knows he's never smoked. 

It's distinctly uncomfortable, being speechless. Bitty can't find anything to say except the same stilted apology, and it wouldn't be for the right thing even if Jack couldn't tell the difference.

_ I'm sorry I told you,  _ more than,  _ I'm sorry it happened.  _

"I asked her to stay," Jack tells the skyline. "I'm not sure why I did that."

"Oh, sweetheart," Bitty tells him, reaching to rest a hand on his arm emphatically. "It's because you still loved her."

Jack turns to look at him, his mouth hung open a little like he's about to ask for clarification, when Ransom suddenly plops down on Bitty's other side and Shitty worms his way in between Bitty and Jack.

"H'okay, you depressed motherfuckers, here's the fuckin' deal," Shitty announces. He shoves a Pyrex dish into Bitty's lap as the rest of the Samwell crew swarms around them. "I've got two-thirds of a thingamaroo of  _ fucking orgasmic  _ pot brownies that need to disappear before Lards and I go through customs tomorrow."

Bitty laughs. "How did you get these here in the first place?"

Lardo says, "A wizard never reveals their secrets," and pulls the plastic wrap off the dish.

Bitty looks around at all their friends—Chowder and Farmer on Kent's far side, Nursey and Dex with their backs to the ocean so the group forms a loose circle, Holster starfished on his back like he sampled the wares early—who are dressed in their nicest clothes, visibly exhausted, and still ready to drop everything for someone they love, after all this time.

Lardo reaches for the bottle of wine and takes a swig before handing it to Chowder. Bitty's heart stutters in his chest.

He takes a brownie out of the pan and passes it down the line to Ransom, raising an eyebrow at Lardo. "How strong are these?"

Lardo just says,  _ "Bro." _

So that's a hard pass on eating a full one. Bitty's metabolism isn't what it used to be. He breaks it into quarters instead and hands one of them over to Jack, who flashes him a small, genuine smile as their fingers brush.

Bitty takes a bite and immediately wrinkles his nose as he whines, "Oh my God, these are  _ disgusting!  _ Who made these?"

"Look, my dude, we can't all be fuckin' professional bakery connoisseurs or whatever!" Shitty protests. "If  _ someone  _ lived in Boston, I'd have access to professional quality edibles, but we've been slumming it without you."

"Haha," says Jack. "Remember that time Bittle made those cookies and you cried?"

Holster, who is currently shoving an entire brownie into his mouth at once, asks, "Yo,  _ yeah— _ when was that?"

"Our second baby shower," Farmer supplies. "I had to bribe the sitter to stay an extra three hours thanks to you."

Bitty puts a hand to his chest. "I take  _ no  _ responsibility for the Great Marijuana Party of '23."

"Wait," Dex says. "Is that the same party where Parse almost fell off the roof?"

Kent says, "Uh, I  _ did  _ fall off the roof, thanks. It was fucking epic."

"Holy shit, didn't you miss like a whole month that season?" Ransom asks.

Kent holds up two fingers. 

Bitty groans and hides his face in his hands.

"Damn, Bits, you could've just taken a stick to his kneecaps," Holster chirps.

"Shitty gave me a new strain!" Bitty insists defensively. "How was I supposed to know it'd make my new boyfriend trip balls?"

Kent gestures emphatically with the hand holding his brownie and says, "Listen, y'all have  _ clearly  _ never been on the receiving end of 'sorry I almost killed you' sex, or you wouldn't be pitying me right now."

"Kenny!" Bitty hides his face again, feeling his cheeks heat up against his palms.

Dex points out, "Still not our saddest injury, though. Remember when Nurse tripped over the gate?"

Lardo laughs and then schools her face into something aggressively neutral, trying to imitate Nursey's New York accent. "Chill, Poindexter, at least it's not my poetry hand."

"Yo," says Nursey, apparently his full commentary on the subject. He brushes the sand off his hands and reaches for another brownie-quarter.

"I'm pretty sure that babysitter had sex in our pool house, like, a  _ bunch  _ of times," Chowder muses.

Bitty squawks with laughter. "And you kept hiring her?"

Farmer shrugs. "It's the least we could do for making her deal with Hannah's terrible twos. That girl was a saint."

"And apparently after you hit your mid-twenties, it's more creepy than cool to buy teenagers alcohol?" Chowder adds. "That was weird!"

"I still can't believe y'all are  _ parents,"  _ Bitty gripes. He gestures at the rest of group, most of whom actually have children by now. "Any of y'all!"

Jack speaks up again, leaning across Kent to nudge Farmer with his elbow. "I remember when we met you, eh? Bittle made that quiche."

"Oh God," Farmer groans. She leans back on her hands, looking up at the sky. "I was so nervous! Like, meet-the-parents nervous."

Bitty says, "No! Really?"

Chowder agrees, "You two  _ were  _ basically like the Team Dads. It was kinda scary."

"Lord, we weren't even dating then." Bitty locks eyes with Jack, raising an eyebrow at him. "Remember when I thought you were straight?"

"Haha, yeah." Jack shakes his head. His hand is flexing and clenching in the sand, sifting it through his fingers, and he deadpans, "No idea why you thought that."

Bitty shakes his head fondly, turning away to face the ocean. The conversation veers off in some other direction, but he doesn't try too hard to follow the thread. It's been a long day, and the buzz is starting to catch up with him, but that's okay—they're not getting through this alone.

He closes his eyes, letting the sounds of his friends laughing wash over him. He can feel Kent laughing, too, so familiar that it’s like it’s happening against his chest. A brush of fingers, the predictable snort and sharp nip of teeth.

And further back—the sound of Jack’s quiet  _ haha  _ echoing through Faber, the sharp chill of an icy breath and the feel of shingles scraping against his bare thighs on the Haus roof. The things that belonged to another era of himself, before life hauled them along and too many nights faded into bleary-eyed mornings.

Bitty opens his eyes and watches the vague motion of waves crashing in the pitch-dark, far enough from dawn that they can pretend it will never come, and thinks about how easy it would have been to exist without this moment—to decline a wedding invitation, to be less in love with Kent Parson, for any one of their friends to complain about aching joints and slip off to bed.

Jack nudges Bitty with an elbow, suddenly says, “Good thing you were there, eh, Bittle?” and Bitty turns to him and realizes he has no idea what story’s just been told, or what time Bitty was there exactly when he needed to be.

But he smiles softly anyway, and says, “Yeah, good thing,” and trusts that it’s true.

**Author's Note:**

> A fun fact is that I currently have 49 (including this one) fics on AO3, and 8 of those are tagged ambiguous/open ending. I actually thought that number would be higher? Anyway, if you'd like to have a stern conversation with me about that, you can find me on [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/summerfrost) or [Tumblr,](https://www.yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com) but you should know that I'm not sorry and never will be ;-*


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